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case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a
work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Lex Page chewed on his bottom lip in deep thought, while looking
longingly at his usual choice of dress. A restaurant like Le Pierre
might mistake him for a homeless guy in faded blue jeans and a
worn-out gray hoodie, and turn him out. Thinking about that
particular scenario made him nervous. All the commotion, and the
horrified faces of the diners turned towards him—that was a sure
ticket to another panic attack.

“Breathe,” he reminded himself, plucking his orange inhaler from
the left pocket of his trousers.

Taking a slow breath, he simultaneously
squeezed the inhaler and held his breath. Albuterol filled his lungs.
Heaven.

The fabric of his trousers itched. So did the
starchy white shirt. Both items felt odd against his skin. Lex never
really liked dressing up. If it weren’t for Dom, he wouldn’t be
caught dead in a suit, either. First
rule of us dating, Dom would say.
Dress up, or don’t get out of the
house at all.

The prospect of seeing Dom trumped everything else, even his severe
social anxiety. And sex, of course.

Focus. He
glanced back at the bowties lying on the dresser. He arranged a dozen
of them in a straight line, but he considered the blue and green.
Orange, red, and yellow seemed too much.

People would stare. They always did. Dom and Dr. Michaels often
reminded Lex it was all in his mind, but he never believed them. If
someone lingered long enough, they’d catch glimpses of the real
Lex, and all the cracks in the internal armor. Cracks he’d spent
his entire life hiding.

Sweat coated his palms. More slid down his
spine, back, and underarms. He should have put on the shirt and coat
last. If Lex didn’t hurry, he’d lose his reservation. Blue was
safe, right?

Lex didn’t want to be seen at all. He relied on being invisible,
loved the fact no one took a second glance at him in the street. He
wore the suit and bowties for Dom. No one else, because Dom said they
added some color into his life.

Now the hard part. Lex put away the other
bowties in the carved and ornate wooden box Dom gave him for their
first anniversary, and studied the three different shades of blue
bowties. He arranged the clip-on, a premade, and the self-tie once
again in a row.

The clip-on was the darkest, nearly black in color. Lex brushed his
thumb over the fabric. Dom always said a true bowtie enthusiast could
always tell. Besides, only children wore a clip-on accessory. The
same went for the pre-made.

Sighing, Lex plucked the self-tie and wound it around his neck. He
stared at his reflection in the mirror. An everyday guy in his
mid-twenties with a neat haircut and brown hair and eyes stared back
at him. The suit stood out though. So did the bowtie. Why Dom
preferred these infernal things to a simple tie, Lex didn’t know.

Reciting Dom’s instructions in his head, he made the neat little
bow. Five attempts later, he nodded his satisfaction. At the third
time, tears threatened to fall from the corner of his eyes, but he
held them back. Frustration welled inside him. Why the fuck was this
so hard?

Real men didn’t cry. His father always said so, even though the
bastard was long dead.

At the very least, the sweat had dried. Lex
gave his appearance another cursory glance, wincing at the end
product. Whatever.
Every man in the restaurant would be wearing thousand-dollar suits
and formal coats. No one would give him and his two-hundred-dollar
outfit another glance.

On his way out of the bedroom, something nudged
its furry head against his leg and let out a bark. Dom’s Welsh
Corgi, Patches—no, his
now, looked up at him earnestly. A normal dog would have wagged its
tail, but real Welsh Corgis didn’t have them, apparently. A strange
dog for a man who never quite fit in the world—that sounded just
about right.

“I can’t play, boy. I have a date.”

Lex waved at the suit and bowtie. Patches didn’t look impressed.
Lex took a short trip to the kitchen, hearing the stubby paws of the
short, sausage-shaped fur ball trotting behind him. Opening a can of
dog food and placing it in Patches’s bowl, he lowered it for
Patches. The Corgi sniffed at his fingers, before digging in.

Patches let out what suspiciously sounded like a snort. Lex rubbed
the Corgi’s ears, wondering if he should cancel this entire thing.
Once Patches got what he wanted, the fiend ignored him completely.
Lex knew he was purposely delaying.

He wished he could take the same amount of time picking his footwear.
Too bad he owned one pair of leather shoes and four pairs of
sneakers.

He slipped his feet in, feeling uncomfortable, recalling all the
times he bitched and whined to Dom about not being able to run in
these. Dom’s response would always be the same. In what kind of
situation would Lex need to run? Lex’s exercise was limited to
occasionally climbing the stairs to his apartment unit on the second
floor when the elevator broke down. Walking to work would be another
excuse, except Lex worked remotely from home.

Lex patted his pockets before heading out.
Wallet, keys, cell phone, and inhaler: check. No more delays.
Tonight, Lex would strap on a pair. He promised Dr. Michaels.

“Do, not try,” Lex murmured under his breath.

Right, talking to himself. Another habit he needed to break out of.
With his car still at the impoundment lot, Lex walked. The old Toyota
his father gave him for high school graduation would remain there.
Lex had no interest getting it back after the accident.

Besides, Le Pierre wasn’t far, only a couple of blocks away, even
if Lex had to pass several dodgy streets and rough neighborhoods. He
counted on would-be muggers seeing him as slim pickings and moving
onto bigger prey. Being invisible—one of the benefits of being one
the Lexes of the world, he supposed.

He reached the Le Pierre in record time. Located on the street
occupied by a number of trendy restaurants opened over the last year,
most of the places were close to bursting on a Friday night. The
walk-ins gave him a glare when he shuffled forward and gave the
maitre d’ his reservation. The thin and balding Frenchman found his
name on his clipboard. Finally looking up at Lex, recognition hit the
waiter’s face.

Lex stuffed his hands in his pocket. It must
have only been a couple of seconds, but he never liked people paying
too much attention.

“Table for two?” the inconsiderate bastard asked with a skeptical
sneer.

“That’s right.” Lex put steel into his voice. God knew the
number of times he’d tried talking himself out of this stupid blind
date.

He half expected the guy to turn him away, to tell Lex he was a waste
of space. Letting out a heavy sigh, the waiter took a menu. Not that
Lex needed it. With ten items on the single piece of expensive
gold-leaf paper crammed into thick leather case, there weren’t many
options for someone who’d eaten there frequently.

“This way, please.”

Ignoring the man’s lofty tone, Lex followed. Seeing the empty
corner table set for two, he let out a sigh of relief. Never mind it
was close to the busy kitchen. The last time, Lex sat in one of the
tightly packed tables in the center. Even now, the uncomfortable
experience made him shudder. He debated taking the seat facing the
wall, but Daniel wouldn’t be able to see him that way.

Lex took the other seat and pretended to look at his menu so the
waiter would go away. Certain he was alone, he stared at the familiar
words on the menu. Every single time, he took the same thing—the
duck with the creamy potatoes and side salad. Most of the time, Lex
left the potatoes in the hopes his date would take it a little
further. Ten out of ten times, the date seldom ended in the bedroom.

Eight out of ten times, his date never even showed up.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” A fresh-faced blonde asked.

Lex stared at the empty seat across from him. What were the chances
‘Daniel938’ would appear? Hell, his name might not even be
Daniel, but something else.

“Duck, please … oh, and,” Lex paused, scanning the drink list.
He was a social drinker, but it seemed fine to let loose a little,
given the evening was about to end up in utter and craptastic
failure. “Some wine. Surprise me, as long it’s not the pricier
ones.”

The blonde nodded amiably, tapping on her tablet. “I’ll be back
with your order, sir. And your companion?”

Lex winced at that. “He’s running late.”

She left him to his misery. Now then, why the hell would he say
something like that? The rest of the evening turned out uneventful,
especially once Lex resigned himself to the truth. Daniel must have
decided he wasn’t worth the effort, although Lex uploaded his best
photo on the dating site. Maybe Daniel found someone more attractive
to hook up with, someone more fun and interesting.

“Why do I constantly do this to myself?” Lex grumbled, angrily
stabbing at his potatoes. Usually, he avoided carbs, but what the
heck?

The answer came easily. He wanted to make Dom proud, so the next time
Lex visited his dead boyfriend’s grave, he could tell he moved on.
That would make Dr. Michaels happy too.

“Good evening, I apologize for being late,” a smooth voice said,
interrupting his train of thoughts.

Wait. What? Lex thought he’d imagined the voice, or overheard it
from a nearby table, but no. Someone dragged the chair opposite him.
Confused, wondering if he was starting to become a little woozy from
all that wine, Lex stared. Gaped was a better word. The man who sat
in front of him didn’t look like the profile photo of Daniel from
MatchYourLove.com.

For one thing, the Daniel in that photo wore a plain green shirt and
jeans, freckly face grinning. Daniel was passably handsome, cute, the
kind of guy a braver man would ask out in a coffee shop. Daniel was
in more ways than one, a safe choice. Certainly out of his depth, but
this man was like a thousand leagues away.

Tall, nearing six-foot, the man wore an impeccable black suit that
looked like something Lex could never afford. The suit hugged him
perfectly, tailored to his build. He wasn’t exactly buffed like a
steroid gym addict, more like padded with lean muscle like a boxer.
With a quick motion, the guy sat and placed the napkin on his lap. He
moved like a predator. Lex didn’t know why he thought that.

His date—although Lex could hardly believe it, waved over a waiter.
The same snooty Frenchman who sat him down came over. Lex winced,
expecting a disaster. The waiter quickly melted when Lex’s date
spoke in what sounded like perfect French.

“That would be all for now,” the man said, sounding dismissive
and charming at once.

Wait. That didn’t make sense. Lex was besotted with a perfect
stranger. Great. This guy couldn’t be his date. He looked like the
complete opposite of Daniel. Of course, there was the huge
possibility the photo Daniel put up on the site was fake.

Black eyes looked intently at him. No, they weren’t black, Lex
realized a second later, but a kind of dark green. The face that
stared at him was handsome, in a rough kind of way. Lex took in the
strange details, like the broken nose and the thin scar right below
the man’s jaw. Not a shaving accident, Lex assumed. Every instinct
told him to start running. This guy screamed danger, although Lex
couldn’t put his finger on it.

The man undid the top button of his gray shirt, unveiling a tanned
collarbone. Lex spotted hints of ink underneath. The outline of a
black wolf caught his eye. “There, much better. It’s unexpectedly
hot in here, don’t you think?”

Lex decided not to share he was about to combust.

“Um, are you sure you’re at the right table?” Lex couldn’t
help but ask.

Chapter Two

Frowning, the handsome stranger studied him a little closer. Those
dark and serious eyes unnerved him a little. Why did it feel like the
man was capable of reading his soul? One look seemed capable of
reaching out, tearing away all his invisible barriers and reaching
for his soul. His heart hammered.